Time, Rewritten
by FosterthePhoenix
Summary: The war is won, but at a terrible price. Seventy-six years later, Hermione decides to go back and make things right, once and for all. Time-travel fic. Eventual Harry/Hermione, some mature content. Don't like, don't read. Technicalities and loopholes associated with time-travel addressed. May be mature MUCH later on. Reviews appreciated! NOT OLD HERMIONE/HARRY!
1. Chapter 1

**Time, Rewritten**

**Chapter One**

**An: Hello, my readers! Some of you may have found this by looking for Harmony fanfiction, or perhaps just for Harry Potter fanfiction, and some of you may be reading this because you follow me, but I hope you enjoy it. A word of warning; this is not going to be particularly fluffy, like my other works. There will be fluff, but it'll be later on. Also, I've rated this teen for now, but there is some mature language and situations, however not graphic, merely mentioned, but much later down the line I may change the rating to mature. If any of that stuff offends you, please do not continue. Also, it **_**is **_**a time-travel fic, and my first one, so let me know how you like it! Enjoy!**

Harry and Voldemort battled furiously, spell on spell. Sparks flashed from their wands with a hissing, popping noise, and Hermione stood, petrified, watching the fight unfold with a sort of horrified fascination, her wand hanging limply at her side.

She jumped with every spell bellowed, winced with every flash, and all the while prayed, _be safe, Harry, oh, please be safe. _

He should have been safe. Hadn't he survived Voldemort many times before, and the latest as soon as about an hour ago? Hadn't all the Horcruxes been destroyed? There should have been no doubt in Harry's victory, in her mind.

But there was, and rightly so, for at the same time Voldemort hissed, "_Avada Kedavra!" _Harry shouted, "_Protego!" _The green light from Voldemort's wand struck the shield, and split, one beam reflecting back on Voldemort, and one beam passing through the shield. And in front of her disbelieving eyes and silently screaming mouth, the two duelers fell, both wearing the same stunned looks….

Hermione bolted upright in her bed, gasping for air. She groped around for her wand, and, with a wave, lit the candles around the bedroom, showing a modest, clean room with some dark furniture and a large, canopied bed, in the middle of which sat ninety-four year old Hermione Granger, shivering, and not from cold. She pushed herself off of the bed, sliding her feet into her house shoes and pulling on her dressing robe from where it hung on a hook beside her bed, bringing it tight around her bony, thin, nightgown-clad body. She walked to her mirror, and studied her face in it. Seventy-six years had changed her face very much from the eighteen year old girl in her dream. Her brown hair was no longer bushy; it hung almost to her waist in limp waves and was streaked with gray. She had always been slender, but age had made her bony and bent. Her face was lined with wrinkles. Even her brown eyes were changed; they were the same color, but they now held a permanent melancholy appearance and had been that way since that fateful day, seventy-six years ago, where her best friend had died saving the Wizarding World. Indeed, her nightmare was not merely a nightmare; it was a flashback, a flashback that she could, to this day, remember every detail of, for that had been the day when everything fell apart.

And today was exactly the seventy-sixth anniversary of that day. It was known as 'Harry Potter Day', and she, as a retired ministry employee and one of the few people still alive who had really known Harry, had been asked to a banquet honoring the Boy-Who-Lived. She was not looking forward to it. She had been to all the banquets the Ministry had hosted since the tradition had been started the year after Harry's death. She did not believe they served proper tribute to Harry, and only stood as a sick, cruel reminder that, in defeating Voldemort, he too had died. Hermione could never quite shake the feeling that the story had ended all wrong. She believed that he, among the countless others killed, should never have died.

And there were many others. Nearly half the Weasleys had died in that fateful battle seventy-six years ago, including Arthur Weasley, Bill, Fleur, and Fred. They were not the only ones. Professor McGonagall died, as well as Professor Snape, and Professor Flitwick and Professor Vector. Many students died as well, including Collin Creevey, Padma Patil, Lavender Brown, Dean Thomas, Cho Chang, and countless others.

Tonks and Lupin died holding hands, as well as Neville and Luna and so many other Order and DA members that she had a hard time remembering them all, but the ones she did were always on her mind. How could they not be? They had been her friends, her teachers, her classmates. How could she ever forget them, much as she wanted to sometimes, just to ease her pain of remembering?

And then there was after the battle. The Weasleys were torn apart. Percy moved back in to the Burrow to support his grief-striken mother and his little sister Ginny, who died months later when a group of Death Eaters recognized her and killed her on her way to a job interview out of pure hatred and spite. George continued to run the Joke Shop in his brother's memory but could not take pride in it, not without his twin brother. Charlie preferred to stay distant from his family, perhaps in an attempt to escape his grief.

And Ron….he and Hermione had married two years after the battle. Hermione remembered the ceremony. It was dull, and there was no real emotion that there might have been before. They married simply because they knew it was the traditional thing to do; it was what was expected of them. Naturally, Ron also became an Auror, and Hermione worked for the ministry in the Department of the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

Their marriage was relatively short, and their married interactions were polite and distant, detached. When Harry had died something had broken between the two of them, something that could not be mended. They loved each other still, but it was no longer a romantic love, and that was why, while they lay side by side in bed, having just had quick and rather unsatisfying intercourse, which had become a monthly thing in the three years they had been married, Ron rolled over to face Hermione, and said softly, "This isn't working, Hermione. I know it, and you know it. There's too many bitter memories between the two of us, and…I think we should separate."

This pronouncement stirred no feelings in Hermione. She rolled over to face him, staring solemnly into his face, searching his blue eyes, which held vague regret, before saying, just as softly, "I agree."

A few months later, they had divorced. It was not in the slightest sense a hassle; Hermione got the house, a modest little cottage in a small wizarding community, and Ron moved into George's little flat above the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Their divorce seemed to, oddly enough, open the two up to each other, and they were able to talk as friends once again, and shared a much easier relationship as a divorced couple than as husband and wife.

With time, it could have turned romantic once again, truly romantic, but Hermione would never know, because scarcely a year later, Ron was killed in the line of duty as an Auror. Hermione remembered the funeral, and remembered feeling simply numb. She'd suffered too much grief to feel any other way.

And so the years passed, as they do so. Hermione never remarried. She threw herself into her job, and did not have the time or desire for a partner. She worked her arse off, and became very high up in the Ministry, but, while the acknowledgement would have thrilled her in her younger years, she was still dissatisfied, why, she did not know; she did not crave more power or wealth or recognition, but she wanted something more. Now she wondered if it wasn't a social life she truly craved; in her younger years, she had insisted she was too busy and too heartbroken for friends; after all, all of her friends had died. She had acquaintances, and she was still fairly close to the Weasleys, but she had no true friends; Ron had been her last. She sometimes interacted with her former classmates, but she did not seek them out, for they reminded her too much of her long gone and sorely missed past. When she was fifty, her parents died within a month of each other, and Hermione then truly became cut off from the rest of the world, as numb and detached as a robot.

When she was ninety, she was more or less insisted by the Minister to retire from her position as Head of the Department, not because she was bad at her job, or her age was making her shabby; no, he insisted she retire for her health, as her vigor for work was rather startling to the young Minister, and he did not want her to over exert herself.

So she retired, unwillingly, to much pomp and credence and bestowing of congratulations and regrets of her retirement that she neither believed nor wanted. She spent the last few years in her home, rarely leaving, mostly reading, and if not reading, staring into space, sometimes for hours on end, wondering, over and over again, how it had come to this…

…and now they wanted her to go to yet another ceremony parading about the fact that the promise of a happy future and a good man at heart had died for them all. She had half a mind not to go. She was not expected to speak, after all. She had only been asked, as well as Ron and a few others, to speak at the first banquet, and all the years after, and this year too, she supposed, only the Minister spoke, a long-winded, rambling speech that spoke volumes of Harry's deeds but very little of the actual man behind them. Well, she didn't want to go. But she had to; she needed to be there if she was to succeed with what she was going to do. For Hermione Granger had a plan. And she may have been an old woman, but her mind was still fresh and her magical ability was still prodigious and she had the same grim determination that had carried her through difficult trials and times.

The plan was this; she would go to the Ministry, and, counting on the fact people wouldn't pay much mind to her, an old has-been, she would sneak down to the Hall of Mysteries. Very few people would be down there, if they were there at all, and if they were, Harry had left her his old invisibility cloak in a will she hadn't known existed, among a few other things, and she would use that. She remembered, even still, where everything was in the Hall. When she got there, things were quite straightforward; she would nick a time turner and hurry back to the party before anyone missed her, but that was not a very hard deadline to follow, as she _was _an old has-been, and people tended to get rather tipsy at these events, and the guards posted would be busier trying to keep the drunks under control than finding out what an old woman was up to.

Once she had the time-turner, she would leave quickly, as soon as she could without raising suspicion, and apparate home. From there, she would turn the time turner the required amount of times (her wrists already ached at the number of times she knew she'd have to turn it, having done the math,) and go back to the night after Harry became The Boy who lived; her reasons for doing this were frank; what had happened, she was sure of it, was not what was supposed to have happened, and she knew she had to change it. She would not stop Harry's parents dying; she wanted to, but she knew he needed to protection, and, after long, hard thinking, she had been able to produce no good or solid outcome by saving his parents; it was quite necessary they die, much as she hated to admit it. No, she had a plan. Harry would not live with his aunt and suffer, but he would still have the blood protection, she was going to make sure of that, she had researched it and knew exactly what was to be done. He would not grow up alone, abused, and ignorant of who he was; he would grow up knowing what he needed to know. She would make sure of that.

It was not all as straightforward as it sounded. There were issues, problems. She was not uncertain of the how relatively easy it would be to get a hold of the time-turner; she knew it would actually be rather simple. The hard part was the actual time travelling. Time travelling was a tricky business at the best of times, and only meant to be used to go back at most a few hours; she would be going back many, many hours. She knew it would be dangerous; she could even die in the attempt. But anything would be better than sitting here waiting for death, always knowing it shouldn't have ended that way. She would not miss her old life, not at all. She knew no one would discover what she had done until days, perhaps weeks later. She knew what she was doing would mess things up, perhaps completely change the future; for better _or _for worse. People might not die, or might die, in the past she was recreating, and people in this present might not be born. But it had to be done, and maybe it was selfish of her; but she would be doing this for the greater good of the whole world. That must make it right….


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**An: Wow. I am completely gratified and humbled by the response this story has gotten already. Thank you. I'll keep this short; just in case there was any misconceptions, I will **_**most certainly not **_**be pairing an old Hermione with baby Harry; I think the mere idea is highly disgusting, but it will eventually be a Harmony story, so Romione fans or Hinny fans who foster an intense hatred or whatever to this pairing, you may not want to read this. Just saying. Anyways, enjoy!**

Hermione absently smoothed her hair in the mirror, her eyes fixed on a satchel above her shoulder that she could just make out in the mirror. She looked quite nice, in grey, silky, ruffled dressrobes, her hair twisted in a braided knot at the nape of her neck, pearls dangling from her ears and neck, but she cared not a whit about her appearance, just on what she was to do that night. The satchel contained the things she'd take with her when she traveled back in time. It held robes and Muggle clothes of that period that she'd stitched herself. She had taken out her whole Gringott's account, and the gold sat in several large pouches, as she had accumulated quite a bit in the many years she had worked and had not spent, having no real use _to _spend it. She had had the goblins transfer it all so that all the coins had been cast _before _the day she was going back to. She felt bad to pile such work on the goblins, as they had seemed quite angry to do it, but she needed everything to be perfect. As to not arouse suspicion, she put on a fit of nostalgia that was not altogether hard to pass off, as she was ninety-four. She wanted to pack muggle money, but she knew that it had changed too much in the last near century to be safe, so she went without. She of course also packed her wand. Other than that, she had nothing, save for a few personal knick-knacks. She had debated on whether or not to pack Harry's old invisibility cloak, before deciding against it. It would not do for two of the same cloak to be floating around at the same time.

She was ready, dressed and made up for the banquet, her satchel all packed and ready to take with her. All that remained was to pen a letter, explaining what she had done.

She turned to a small desk set in a far dusty corner. She walked to it, switching on the dusty old lamp set next to it. She grabbed a quill and parchment, and sat down, ready to write.

But what _to _write? She did not need anyone coming after her. She already had a plan to stop that from happening, even though the mere thought made her insides squirm with guilt, for it involved destroying all the other time-turners, save for the one she was to get. She knew eventually someone would put two and two together, noting the destruction of the time-turners and her disappearance and would come looking, but she'd be long gone by that time. She'd just need to explain why she'd done it, then. Keep it short and sweet. But who to address it to? She had no friends, no family to speak of. So eventually she just decided to address it generically, and finally was able to write,

_To whom it may concern,_

_You are no doubt wondering what I have done. Well, I shall tell you. I have traveled back in time, to November 1__st__, 1981. I am sure whoever is reading this knows the importance of the day before that. I am going back because I am convinced that what happened was never meant to be. I know my decision is dangerous, and effects everything, but it must be done, for the good of the wizarding world…and myself. Do not attempt to follow me, not that I believe anyone can._

_Hermione Granger_

She finished the note, and laid it on the desk. If the ministry sent someone competent looking for her, they'd find it.

It was almost time for the Banquet to start. After one last lingering glance at her satchel, she went out into the neat yard of her small cottage, walking a little way out from the threshold before turning on the spot in apparition with a soft _pop. _

She experienced the brief sensation of suffocation before landing neatly in the Ministry's main hall. She blinked, looking around her at the other arriving party members, before making her way briskly to the Banquet Hall. She was stopped just outside its doors, however, by a short, plump, balding man in dressrobes of a blinding aqua, known as Minister Archie Hoff, a jovial if somewhat irksome man.

"My dear Ms. Granger!" He called loudly, in a squeaky, carrying voice, striding forward to embrace her. Hermione accepted his embrace somewhat reluctantly, as he was not only the reason she had been bullied into retiring, she also felt a vague suspicion that, although he was almost thirty years younger than her and married, he harbored an unfathomable fancy for her, a fancy she was sure of when his embrace became lingering and his hand drifted towards her rear end, at which point she drew away hastily, sneaking a glance at his wife, who looked stony. _He must favor older women_, she thought, as his wife looked only a few years younger than her, although he could have simply married her as she was a rich, widowed woman with a pureblood estate to her name.

"I'm so glad you've come, dear Hermione," Archie said, letting her free of his embrace but grabbing her hand and grasping it tightly. Hermione felt herself go red in anger and embarrassment. Did he really have to act this way, in front of everyone, including his wife?

"Yes, yes, _thank you, _Minister," She said forcefully, drawing her hand from his. "It's a pleasure to be here." And with that, she quickly walked away to take her seat at a table set off to the side.

As Hermione had expected, the ceremony was long and arduous, to the point of gruesome, as they listened to the Minister speak the same old tired speech in the same old falsely saddened voice, eating the same old food that were supposedly 'Great favorites' of Harry (not true- there was no treacle tart, and she knew some of the things served he never would've eaten when alive,) and then the socializing and dancing that followed.

After about a half hour of forced conversation with former colleagues, (and avoiding Archie, who was becoming steadily drunker and had taken to showing up randomly, becoming more and more flirtatious,) Hermione excused herself on the pretense of using the restroom, and, once out of the sight of the partygoers, slipped on the Cloak she had brought with her and stole down to the Hall of Mysteries.

Just as she had suspected, it was not at all heavily guarded, and those who did guard it were new, young workers who glanced wistfully up at the ceiling from which music could still be heard drifting down to them from the higher levels. It was only a matter of getting through the doors without arousing suspicion, and she was able to get through scot-free to the room where the time-turners were held.

The room was deserted, but she didn't dare slip off the cloak lest someone show up. She made her way to the shelf upon which sat the time-turners, gleaming. She reached a trembling hand up, and her fist closed on one. She brought it close to her face, staring at the little hourglass, still and unmoving in its holder. She stared at it for a while, unable to draw her gaze from it, before snapping out of her reminiscing and stowing it carefully, oh so carefully, in a hidden pocket in her robes. She then raised her wand, hating herself for what she was about to do, and nonverbally said the spell to destroy the time-turners before ducking out of the way of the flying glass. Her work done, she slipped back out, carefully avoiding the guards, before making it back to the elevator, where she stowed the cloak back in relief. She got to the Banquet Hall floor, but just as she was walking out of the elevator, someone grabbed her, one arm around her chest and one over her mouth, before she could get to her wand, and pulled her into an empty, secluded room off of the hall.

The arms pushed her roughly against a desk, before muttering an incantation in a slurred voice to lock the door, a voice she recognized….

"Archie!" she gasped.

"There's the spirit, love," He slurred, fiddling with the front of her robes.

Her relief that it was only Archie quickly turned to outrage at his drunken, foolish, and overly-amorous behavior. Lingering hugs and overly-familiar comments were one thing, but this was an entirely different thing.

"Archie, get _off,_" Hermione growled, struggling with him. What did he want with an old ninety-four year old, anyways?

"Ah, c'mon, love," He complained, still drunkenly pawing at the front of her robes. "The wife's gone, and we're all alone, jus' the two of us. Cozy, eh?"

Hermione struggled, and was eventually able to free her wand arm. He was younger and stronger than her, but drunk and lusty, giving her the upper hand. She grabbed her wand, and quick as a whip, as quickly as she could have in youth, had her wand up and pointing at his chest, forcing him to back up clumsily, his hands in the air, babbling drunken protests.

"Back off, _Hoff, _or I swear, I'll jinx your testicles off." She growled dangerously, lowering her wand's aim to his crotch.

He backed up obligingly, gaping at her, and she swept past him, unlocking the door, furiously resisting the urge to jinx his testicles off regardless of moving.

However, she fought the urge, and, once safely away from, decided to Apparate back home. She could not afford any more close encounters, or it may be discovered she had a time-turner; Hoff had come very close to discovering hers while he pawed at her chest. No, it would be much wiser to simply apparate home, and go ahead with the final stage of the plan. She glanced around her, at the warm, well-lit Hall. She was sure she'd never see it again.

No huge loss, in her opinion.

And with that, she apparated back home.

Upon arriving, she wasted no time in changing into more practical robes for traveling, stowing the nice robes back in her room, never to be worn by her again. She put on her satchel, and slipped the time-turner around her neck. She pulled out her wand, and muttered a spell that would tell her how many times she had turned the little knob, and began turning.

It was in the wee hours of the morning that Hermione reached the correct number of turns, her wrist aching. A warm glow spread of her, and she closed her eyes, feeling the rush of time transport her, saying goodbye to her past life, and hoping, hoping, it would work….


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

**An: Hello, readers. I apologize for the wait, I've been quite busy of late, school, don't you know, rehearsals, that sort of thing. But the main thing is I have time now, so…enjoy.**

Hermione felt that feeling of being flung backwards, air compressing around her, past happenings playing out around her as she flew back in time. But she paid little mind to these images, not that she could very well tell what they represented in the speed they went by in. All she could think about, over and over, was, _Please work. This has to work, please…_

Just when she was beginning to wonder if something had gone wrong, everything slowed down, and with a flash and a slight bump, she found herself nearly ninety-three years in the past.

She blinked in the sudden light; it was day. She stared around herself. She stood in an empty field of swaying heather out in the countryside; the cottage and the surrounding village had not been built yet. She breathed in deeply, smelling the sweet grass and nature, before breathing out again in a short gasp. She wanted to fall to her knees. She wanted to fall to her knees and kiss the ground, weeping, thanking whatever benevolent force had kept her alive in her travels. But she knew she mustn't. She had much to do yet.

So she steadied herself from the slight bump of landing that had put her leaning slightly off balance, adjusting her crooked hat and pulling her travelling cloak tighter around her. She would thank whatever force had guided her safely in her traveling after she had accomplished what needed to be done. She took one last lingering gaze at the rolling, gentle hills of heather, before turning on the spot and apparating.

Her apparition landed her just outside the door of the Leaky Cauldron. She went right in, much as she desired to stand back and marvel at the view of London, back before even she could remember it. No, she would peek around later. She would have plenty of time after she got done what had to be done, and, of course, had put on muggle clothes of the era; it would not do to parade about in her witches' robes, either.

She went in, and could not help pausing just to look. It had not changed much from this point to the last time she visited it in the future about a month before she went back in time, but that was not what held her rooted to the spot. It was the memories. Had it not been through this door that she had first tread, nearly breathless with excitement at the news that she was a witch? Had it not been here where she, Ron, and Harry had spent a good portion of the summer before third year? She allowed herself a ghost of a smile at the memories of the bickering between her and Ron, the pranks of the twins, the rekindled friendship between the trio….her smile faded and she shook her head sadly. If only they had known then, what was to come hardly four years later, then would they be laughing and having fun…?

But it would not do to think this. After all, she had come back in time to change that, hadn't she? Not to brood. No, she had more important things to do than brood.

The bar was packed with witches and wizards alike, celebrating the downfall of Voldemort, and she went unnoticed in her purposeful stride to the back, just another old witch on her way to a shopping trip in Diagon Alley, to pick up potions ingredients and gossip, perhaps. No one worth noting.

Here and there, Hermione recognized a face that looked vaguely familiar from her childhood. There was Tom, the bartender…and there was…bless her, it couldn't be…._Hagrid. _

Hermione forgot all about her purpose as she stopped in her tracks, staring in wonder at Hagrid, who looked just as she remembered him, sitting at a table alone, and nursing a huge tankard of Firewhiskey. He looked as though he had been crying; his eyes were red and puffy, and he kept sniffing, but people paid little mind to him. But Hermione couldn't tear her eyes from him.

Hagrid had died a few years after that fateful Final Battle. It had been a great tear in Hermione's already ripped-up heart. After all, Hagrid had been her friend, and her teacher. He had supported her, and comforted her, in her darkest times, and after Harry had died, she had often found comfort in talking to him.

And here he was. Right in front of her, looking exactly as she remembered him. And she couldn't help it. She had to talk to him.

She edged her way towards him, before clearing her throat. He didn't seem to notice, so she said, "Ah, sir?"

He looked up then, blinking rapidly. "Can I help yeh, madame?"

Hermione stared into his beetle black eyes in wonder. They were wet with tears now, but she remembered them best when they were crinkled in a smile. She hadn't realized she'd feel this way, seeing her old friends again….

"Ah, yes sir, if you could please, tell me how I may gain an audience with Dumbledore?"

When Hagrid's eyes crinkled in suspicion, she hastily added, "The bartender told me you're in service to Mr. Dumbledore, so I assumed you'd know."

Hagrid leaned back in his chair, idly running a hand through his beard. "Well, I 'spose I do. Wha' d'yeh want with 'im, eh?"

Hermione sat down across Hagrid, unable to draw her eyes from his face. "I mean to ask permission of him to gain custody of my great-nephew."

"Who's tha'?" Hagrid asked curiously.

Hermione smiled. "Well, you might not believe it, but….Harry Potter. He is my great nephew."

Hagrid blinked. "Tha' can' be righ'. Harry don't have any other family besides his aunt and uncle."

"Well, sir, you'd be wrong about that. I'm Lucretia Evans." Hermione extended a hand to Hagrid, who shook it, still looking slightly doubtful.

"I am Harry's Great Aunt on his mother's side. I gave up my wand when I married dear Lily's uncle, and became a muggle. They never knew I was a witch. Well, now my husband and the rest of my family are dead, and I intend to raise little Harry as my own. He does not belong with that wretched woman Petunia, he belongs with his own kind." The lie came out smoothly and without a hitch. She had practiced and perfected her made-up character. However, there had to be some truth to it; there had indeed been an aunt Lucretia on the Evans family tree, and around the same time, a Lucretia of the wizarding world had disappeared from her world, having supposedly given up her wand to join muggles. They were not the same Lucretia, but she had a plan to make sure nobody delved to far into the lie, any further than she had set up, anyways.

Hagrid blinked, before saying, "Oh, er, I 'pologize abou' yer family, miss. I didn't realize…"

"That a witch existed in the seemingly muggle Evans line? Yes, I made sure to leave no evidence where I had gone, see. I told only a select few. My family were- are- very hard-core anti-muggle purebloods, and I do believe they'd have killed me if they found out I'd stolen off with a muggle boy."

"What pure-blood family did yeh belong to then?" Hagrid asked curiously.

"The Lestranges." Hermione answered promptly.

"Ah, I see," Hagrid answered, eyeing her with something akin to pity; Hermione delicately arranged her robes around herself, glad he no longer seemed suspicious of her.

"Well, I can't guarantee it'll work," He went on, "But I believe yeh can go to the front gates of Hogwarts and ask for an audience with Dumbledore. If he's there an' he ain't too busy, I 'spose he'd see yeh."

Hermione smiled at Hagrid. "Thank you, sir." She got up. "I suppose, if I get my nephew, I'll see you again, if you would like to visit him?"

Hagrid looked astonished. "Y-es, I would like that, madame! Very much!" He grinned at her, his eyes no longer red and puffy.

Hermione grinned back. "Alright then. I'll contact you, shall I?"

And with that, she continued on to the back of the bar, leaving behind a grinning Hagrid. She may have stopped for personal reasons, but the visit had proved to be very profitable. She had learned the most time-efficient way to talk to Dumbledore, and she had guaranteed when she got Harry, for she _would _get Harry, he'd have at least one friendly face to grow up with.

She smiled as she entered Diagon Alley, ready to do her business.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

**An: I'm pleased at all the questions I've been getting, as well as the other positive feedback. I shall try to answer your questions in due time in this story, don't worry. Enjoy! Also, I have no idea how regular real estate is handled, much less wizarding real estate, and I did the best I could…**

Hermione blinked in the sudden light of Diagon Alley. It was a bright, sunny day, surprisingly warm for fall, and compared to the dingy light of the Leaky Cauldron, it was particularly blinding. She blinked a couple of times to adjust her vision to the change in light. Many people crowded the streets, taking advantage of the downfall of Voldemort and the surprisingly nice day to complete their shopping. Hermione blended right in, and made her towards a small shop a block or so down from the street entrance; the shops and layout were not much changed from the future, minus Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and a handful of other shops, taking place of older shops that existed now. The shop she was looking for was mercifully one that was as old as the street itself, and had not moved or closed down in the future, either, so she knew exactly where it was, considering she'd never been in it.

She strode purposefully to a small, shabby green door set in one of the many facades that lined the street, beneath a neatly-lettered sign that read, "Haver's and Clerk's Realty" and went it.

She found herself in a cool, dim room, with two shabby, slightly unraveling green armchairs set in front of a faded brown wooden desk, which a wispy looking witch sat at, and she gave a jump and peered at Hermione through overlarge bifocals upon looking up at seeing her.

"Ah, yes, Madame, may I help you?" The wispy, middle-aged witch said politely.

"Yes, I would like to purchase a property," Hermione answered promptly.

"Ah, yes, excellent," The witch said, and gestured for Hermione to sit in one of the armchairs. When Hermione had made herself comfortable in the less shabby of the two armchairs, the woman behind the desk rifled through a desk drawer, and pulled out a quill and a piece of parchment.

"Before I can begin the process of showing and selling you homes, I'll need you to fill out this form. Rest assured, if you choose not to buy a property, it will be discarded of, but if you do, we'll need it for your file. Is this alright, Madame…?"

"Evans," Hermione answered, and picked up the quill, sliding the form near her before slipping on her pair of reading glasses from an inside pocket, and, once they were secure on the bridge of her nose, she began to fill out the form.

_Full Name: Lucretia Evans (nee Lestrange)_

_Age: Ninety-four_

_Occupation: Retired_

_Type of property desired: House above shop_

_Occupants on property: Two_

_If operating shop, specify what type of shop it will be: Used Bookshop_

The rest of the questions were simple and straightforward, and Hermione had the sheet filled out within minutes.

"Ah, you're done, Madame Evans? Excellent," The witch said, and collected the paper from her, before scanning it.

"So you wish to operate a used bookshop, Madame? Very good, very good…and do you, ah, have a Ministry-issued business license?"

"No, I was under the impression I could get one here." Hermione answered promptly, smoothing her cloak.

"Yes, Mrs. Evans, yes, you can…that will be a fee of, ah, five galleons, and you must fill out this form."

Hermione handed over the gold, and the witch handed over the form.

There were a few questions of the same caliber of the first form, and then a pledge she had to take to acknowledge the fact that her shop must run by legal, Ministry-issued standards, and that the Ministry reserved the right to revoke her license if on one of their bi-yearly visits to the shop to see all was running well, they found the shop not up to par. Hermione signed her alias before handing it back to the witch.

"Thank you, Mrs. Evans...," The witch drew herself from her chair and looked at Hermione expectantly. "And, ah, now I will show you the available properties that match your preferences of a house and shop in Diagon Alley, if you please." Hermione nodded curtly, and took the witch's arm, and they apparated to the first property.

The witch let go of Hermione's arm when they landed on the steps of the first property and began saying the charms to unlock the house for viewing, while Hermione peered at the exterior of the property. They were right in the hubbub of Diagon Alley, which Hermione knew would be right for business, but it was not so much to her own liking. But it was quite a pretty building, with a clean brick exterior and white shutters, yellow-colored smoke puffing merrily from the twisted chimney. A sign hung above the white wooden door, painted over in white and waiting for a business name.

Finally the witch got the door to open, and they stepped inside. "We've three properties available in the style of your choosing. This is the first. This would, of course, be the shop part of the house."

The first floor consisted of two large, connected circular rooms, painted a cheery yellow. A spiral staircase painted white and yellow extended up to the second floor. At the very opposite wall of the second circular room, a long desk was set up to act as the cashier's booth. Hermione liked the airy layout, but she couldn't much figure how she'd fit many bookshelves in here; the circular walls were better suited to an apothecary. As the bottom space did not look remotely suitable for the shop she envisioned, she let the witch know this did not seem the place for her, regardless of what it may look like upstairs, and there was really no point in keeping here and looking around. The witch blinked, but nodded complacently, and, after setting up the protective wards again, took Hermione's arm and apparated her to the next location.

The shop was a dark building with black shutters and a great, big black metal sign looming overhead, again, awaiting the name of its future business. Hermione immediately took note of how close they were to Knockturn Alley, a fact she did not like at all. However, as she was already on choice two of three, she decided to give the interior a chance.

It was a large, rectangular room, and shelves already lined the walls; all that was needed was some more bookshelves to go in the center of the room. At the front, a large, impressive dark desk stood as the cashier's station. A chandelier lit up the room dimly, creating a mysterious aura. A large, straight staircase led to the second floor, and Hermione walked up it. The witch with her took down the charms separating the first and the second floor, and Hermione went into the apartment. She immediately ended up in the sitting room, where a large fireplace with an ornate mantle took up the whole north wall. The room had dark wooden floors and was empty of furniture. She went on the east side of the room, and through the doorway to the kitchen, with its dark cabinets and counters, a large, blackened stove residing in the middle of the kitchen; a door off to the side of this room led to the dining room. She exited back to the sitting room, and went in the first of two doors on the other side. This was the master bedroom; it was octagonal and had three round, small windows looking out on the street. She went through a door and found the restroom, and went through another door, and found the restroom connected the master bedroom with the other bedroom. It was small, with dark gray walls and a large picture window, which looked out on the small back garden, fenced with a high iron fence.

Having seen all there was to see, Hermione went back to the waiting witch. It was a nice little place, but she did not like the location, and it did not seem very…homey to her.

They apparated to the final property. It was in one of the little cul-de-sacs off of Diagon Alley, travelled enough for good business, for a little used bookshop, at least, but secluded enough for privacy and comfort.

It feature tan-colored bricks, with pale blue shutters and a pretty wooden door of the same shade. A wooden sign, also in pale blue, hung over the door. Hermione liked the location of this one, and the exterior was very pretty. She went right in.

The bottom floor had light wooden walls, and was a large, airy rectangle. The cashier's desk sat at the back of the room, and was the same pale wood as the rest of the room. Hermione found herself envisioning the room crowded with bookshelves of the same light wood, candles floating merrily and unsupported in the air, customers milling about, looking over the used books she was selling…

With a start, Hermione came back to reality. It was odd of her to disappear in her imagination; in fact, it was downright rare for her to, in the last few decades, think of anything but the past and cold hard reality. Something about all of this was making her feel downright young again.

A sweeping, curved staircase led to the second floor, and when the charms had been taken down, Hermione went up. She found herself in the kitchen, a square, bright, cheery room, with light colored cabinets and counters. A large stove sat next to the porcelain water basin. A polished table sat in the middle of the room, underneath a pretty wooden hanging chandelier. Large windows gave a perfect view of a decent-sized backyard, with a small, Weasley-like garden surrounded by a low, gray stone wall. Pale blue carpeting ran throughout the house, as Hermione discovered when she went through the open doorway that led to the sitting room. A modest-sized fireplace sat in the middle of the floor, and two window seats with pale-blue cushions overlooked the front yard. Hermione could see a boy of about eight playing with a toy broom in the cul-de-sac, his mother watching him fondly.

Hermione opened one door and found a restroom. She closed that door and went across the room to another two doors. The first was the master bedroom. Large glass doors led to a pretty terrace overlooking the back garden, white silk curtains hanging in front of the doors. On the opposite side of the room was her own bathroom. She went out of the room, and went in to the other bedroom, which was slightly smaller than the master, but not by much. Its walls were not the same light wood as the rest of the house, nor the pale blue; they were a Kelly green shade, yet they somehow fit right in with the rest of the house. The carpeting in here was a tan color that went well with the green, and a large window with a seat was in here like in the living room, the cushion a checked green and tan. Hermione turned slowly in the room. That corner would be perfect for a cradle, and then a small bed…and that room would be simply excellent for a wardrobe…she could put a teddy for Harry on the window seat…she imagined playing on the floor with him when he was a toddler, teaching him to walk across the floor..

"So, ah, Mrs. Evans, what do you think?" The witch asked, coming uo behind Hermione.

Hermione turned to face the woman slowly, before beaming. "I'll take it."

An hour or so later, Hermione exited the realtor. She had paid the 100 galleon price for the home, and also paid an extra thirty galleons for the house to be furnished within three hours or so. Hermione just specified what furniture she needed, and they'd have the place fixed up, not only her apartments, but also the shop. The witch, whose name Hermione discovered was Wilma Desspit, had also ordered a large shipment of used books to be delivered as soon as the house was fixed up, so Hermione could open up shop within a week. Wilma had also managed to get in contact with several potential employees, and they had managed to narrow the list down to one person, a young man named Ernest, fresh out of Hogwarts, who'd start in a few days to help open the shop. Hermione could hardly contain her excitement.

For now, she didn't have anything else to do in Diagon Alley; it was off to her next challenge, then.

She was just about to apparate when she thought better of it. Instead, she crossed the road, and walked a few blocks until she reached the house that was now hers. Pretty soon, Wilma promised, the decorators would arrive. Hermione stared at her new home thoughtfully for a moment, before pointing her wand at the sign. There was a flash, and curly white and gold cursive appeared on the pale blue sign, spelling out, "_Auntie's Good Reads"._

Smiling faintly, she admired her handiwork before turning on the spot in apparition, ready for her next task.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

**An: Hey, readers. I'm very happy at how well people seem to like this so far, it makes me feel very pleased. When I'm pleased, I seem to write faster, which is very good for you, because I currently have writer's block on everything else, and I haven't written on my other story in a good long while…speaking of which, as school as just started back, expect this to be one of the last weekday updates. From now on, look for updates on the weekends, late at night, because that's the only time I really have to write. Well, anyways, that aside, enjoy!**

Hermione found herself on the front porch of Number Four, Privet Drive. She smoothed her robes down, and patted her down her long, gray locks, eyeing the house. It didn't seem any different by the fact it now held her best friend and a wizard, nor perturbed by the fact its' inhabitants had just lost a family member. Hermione shook her head, astonished. She knew the Dursleys were a piece of work, but she didn't believe they could be this, this…_unbothered. _It was like nothing had changed.

Hermione checked her small wristwatch. It was half-past three. Perfect. She did not want to do what she had to do in front of Vernon Dursley; from what she had heard from Harry, he was extremely anti-magic. Petunia wasn't much better, but at least she'd have some understanding of what was going on, and besides, it would be easier to face only one of them.

Hermione took a deep breath, and knocked on the door.

There a rustle of movement from inside, and then the door opened, showing blonde, ruffled-looking Petunia Dursley, a howling boy Hermione assumed to be Dudley gripping her leg, beating his fists on it. Petunia took one look at Hermione, gave a small shriek, and attempted to slam the door shut, but Hermione, having foreseen this, cast a charm to stop the door form shutting, and after a few more hearty tries to slam the door, Petunia instead backed away, looking horrified. Hermione let herself in, shutting the door behind her before facing Petunia.

"Hello, Mrs. Dursley," Hermione said crisply, nodding to Petunia. "There is not much time, so if we could kindly go to the sitting room and talk, that would be nice."

Hermione swept past Petunia, and, after a second's pause, she saw Petunia put Dudley in a play pen before following Hermione stiffly into the sitting room, and sitting as far from where Hermione sat as possible.

Hermione, unbothered by this fact, leaned forward. "Mrs. Dursley," She began, staring at her with her intense brown eyes; Petunia avoided looking at Hermione, her pale, dusty colored eyes fixed instead on a spot two feet away from Hermione's head. Hermione decided to get right to the point. "Your nephew can not stay here. I wish to take him to be with me. To do this, there is an important ritual I must perform to guarantee his safety. Do you consent?"

Petunia sat gaping at Hermione, before leaping to her feet, her pale eyes flashing. "Oh, drop him on the doorstep of my husband and I, and we've already got another mouth to feed, didn't bother checking if it was alright with us, no, you people just dumped him on our steps in the middle of the bloody night, nothing but a bloody note telling me my sister and her good-for-nothing husband are dead and I must take care of their _unnatural _offspring, signed Albus too-many-middle-names Dumbledore, just to come back and have the absolute _nerve _to say, oh, never mind, we'll take him back, after all. Well take him! I don't care! You unnatural freakish people!"

Her chest was heaving at the end of this tirade, her eyes popping. Dudley had finally stopped his own screaming, and was staring in awe at his mother, making her own high-pitched screams. Hermione simply stared back at Petunia calmly. Personally, she thought Petunia had a reason to be upset; Albus had not only left her with a nephew borne from a sister she had always been jealous of, a nephew she knew in her heart of hearts would be just like his mother and father, magical, and magic frightened her and much as it incited longing in her. And Dumbledore knew this, yet he still left him in for her, not caring what she felt about it, leaving him for her to find early in the morning, a surprise of epic proportions, with nothing but a _note _to explain the news that, not only was her sister dead, a devastating blow in itself, but she was expected to take care of her dead sister's child. That would make anyone feel like a time bomb of emotion, and it was unfair to Petunia to expect such a monumental task of her.

Hermione said more or less this to Petunia, and, thankfully, it seemed to calm her down, at least to the point where she sat down.

"Now," Hermione said, leaning forward, the tips of her fingers steeped together, her voice in a crisp, business-like tone. "Mrs. Dursley, I do not think it would be…wise…of Harry to grow up here. Nor do I have reason to believe you particularly want to care for him. Now, I wish to raise him as my own. For this, I need your help in a ritual of sorts to make him, legally and magically, my own."

Petunia looked Hermione up and down before saying, "No offense, but you don't really look spry enough to raise a child. Besides, I may not appreciate having him dumped on my doorstep, but I don't even know you. Why should I just hand him over to a random stranger, a random stranger whose name I don't even know, and who is technically, breaking and entering?"

Hermione shifted her weight before retorting, "I may be an old woman, but I'm still quite capable of raising Harry. Wizards live much longer, why, almost twice as long as the average Muggle," (Petunia grimaced at this point, but Hermione plowed on,) "And I don't plan on raising him alone, I will have help. Also, I never thought you'd just give Harry up, without letting me explain who I am. My name is Lucretia Lestrange. I was a…friend…of Lily's." Hermione had decided not to tell the whole truth about herself. She didn't want Petunia to be overloaded with information, because she was sure that she'd mostly likely reject Hermione the responsibility of raising Harry just to make things simple. "I believe Lily wished for me to take care of her son, should she ever…not be there for him. But as I'm not kin of his, I cannot take him with me. That's why I need your help. I wish to invoke an old, half-forgotten spell to make myself magically recognized as family, and then I can take him from you and Dumbledore can't say a thing about it, because Harry will still be protected."

Petunia squinted at Hermione, considering. Finally, she said, "It seems like a good idea, but I'm still not sure if you are someone who can be trusted."

Hermione, having expected this, reached into her pocket. When Petunia flinched and drew back, obviously frightened Hermione had a wand, Hermione slowly raised one hand, keeping her eyes on Petunia, and finally, her fingers found what she sought, a scrap of paper bound neatly with a cord. Hermione handed it to Petunia, who took it from her and unraveled it before beginning to read.

Hermione sat back in her chair. The note would convince Petunia, surely. It was in Lily's hand, after all. Hermione had found it after Harry had died and she'd been put to the task of going through his documents and paperwork. She had found this slip of paper. It must have been put there by some Ministry worker. It read,

_We, Lily and James Potter, grant permission of Sirius Black to care for our child, Harry Potter, should anything happen to us._

Lily and James' signatures followed. Hermione had had the insight back then to nab the piece of paper, and much good it did her now. Changing Sirius' name to her alias had been simple with a small charm that allowed people to rewrite what they wanted in the handwriting of the person who had first written the note. It now read,

_We, Lily and James Potter, grant permission of Lucretia Therris Evans nee Lestrange to care for our child, Harry Potter, should anything happen to us._

Petunia's eyes scanned the paper, going round upon realizing it was her sister's handwriting, before handing the note back to Hermione, a hand over her eyes. Hermione waited. Finally, in a small voice, Petunia said, "Alright. What do I need to do so you can take him?"

Hermione let out a soft breath of relief. Perfect. Now it was time to get down to business.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

**An: Hey, readers! I apologize for the delay, I wanted to have this posted a day or so ago, but I've just been much too busy. But, here it is now, so, enjoy. Also, I have finally given into peer pressure and created a tumblr, titled the-nerdy-writer-girl. I basically just use it to share Harry Potter pictures and other nerdy pursuits, and I also do a bit of writing on there, so if you follow me, I'll follow you back, and we can be tumblr buddies, lol. **

Hermione stood up, Petunia hastening to follow suit. Hermione then clasped her hands behind her back, and, in a crisp, business-like tone, said, "Alright, then. I must now see the child, if you please." She was, of course, quite pleased at how everything was turning out, but she had to control her enthusiasm.

Petunia blinked. "Oh. Oh, yes. Right, right this way." Hermione followed Petunia down the hall. She expected them to continue up the stairs, but Petunia stopped in front of the cupboard door. Hermione froze, and her mouth fell open in indignation and surprise. She knew Harry's Aunt and Uncle weren't fond of him, but how could they shove their year old nephew in a glorified coat closet, as if he were something to hide, to be ashamed of?

Petunia, who had ignored Hermione's reaction, pulled open the cupboard door. There, on a small cot that looked suspiciously like it had been salvaged from a dumpster, sat a toddler. He looked up when the door opened, giving a soft gurgle that Hermione hardly heard, as she had been petrified by those eyes, eyes she could remember vividly still as the eyes of her best friend. Hermione blinked after a moment, and stared hungrily at the rest of his face, taking it in. He was only a baby, but she could see in his face the boy, the teen, and then the man he would become, someday. The vivid scar stood out plainly on his forehead, but she knew with time, it would fade slightly, though it would always be prominent, a focal point. His jet black hair stuck up in the back even now, like it had always done when they had been children. The only thing missing were his glasses.

Baby Harry looked up at Hermione with his bright green eyes. Perhaps he saw or sensed that she was different than his aunt, that she was magical or perhaps simply that she actually wanted him, because after a moment of staring at her solemnly, his face split into a wide grin, and he stretched his arms out to her, gurgling and babbling unintelligibly. Unable to resist, Hermione gathered him up in her arms, lifting him in the air. She couldn't get enough of his face, and she stared at it hungrily as she brought him to cuddle against her chest. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew this was weird, as he was her best friend, Harry, but she didn't care. In this timeline, he would not be her best friend, after all; he would be her nephew, her charge, to guard and protect and nurture and love.

Hermione eventually set Harry down on the cot again, and turned to Petunia. "Right, so, to guarantee he's safe with me, I'm going to perform a Blood Bond charm. All you need to do is watch me do it and bear witness, as blood relation to Harry. Alright?"

Petunia nodded, her lips pursed tightly at the mention of 'charm', but otherwise keeping calm.

Hermione turned back to Harry, drawing out a short silver potions dagger from under her robes. She deftly drew the blade across her forearm, creating a moderately bleeding cut. Petunia gasped, but Hermione hardly flinched. She then turned to Harry. She felt very bad about it, but she needed his blood too. She took his tiny wrist gently in her hand and drove the knife as shallow as it was possible and still be able to draw blood into the meaty, fleshy part under his thumb. Harry barely seemed to notice the pain, and just stared up at Hermione with those trusting bright green eyes.

"If you could get me a dish towel or something similar, anything long enough to bound our hands together, that would be nice," Hermione said to Petunia, and, a moment later, having hurried off into the laundry room, Petunia returned with a scarf and helped Hermione bind her wrist and the cut she had made under Harry's thumb together, so the cuts were pressed together, allowing the blood to mingle. Hermione grabbed her wand and brought it out.

"Stand in front of us," Hermione instructed Petunia, and Petunia obediently shuffled from behind Hermione to stand in front of her and her nephew's joined hands.

When she had moved, Hermione waved her wand in a complicated motion, slowly and deliberately, and, on the third pattern, she chanted,

"_Lungere duo sanguine facere, et sanguinis inter se erunt en oculis benedictus en saecula, et cum sanguis ejus familiaris uias. Hodie fit."_

A bluish-grey light shot out of her wand to entwine their arms. Hermione chanted again, and silver light circled Petunia, who gave a small shriek, and then entwined their arms alongside the first light. Hermione chanted the spell one final time, a gold light shot out of her wand and went straight through the scarf binding them to the joined cuts. It sank into their cuts, and Hermione felt a warm, pleasing feeling where it seeped in, as did Harry, telling from his delighted laughs, or perhaps he was giggling at the pretty lights, which faded away the moment after the tingling sensation faded. Hermione quickly undid the scarf bounding her and Harry's wrists, and saw that both of their cuts were completely healed.

She smiled weakly and stumbled back to the living room, slumping on the couch, Petunia following behind her. She had done it. The healed cuts symbolized that her and Harry were now recognized as blood relations. It was a tricky spell, old magic, a spell that had been used up until about 800 years ago as a spell to wed witches and wizards, but the it had faded away and lost popularity until it was now known as 'Old magic'. But Hermione had been able to find a book all about Old magic with a little research and had discovered this tricky spell, and it had _worked. _Hermione felt incredibly lighthearted with joy. Everything was going exactly as she had hoped it would. Now, it was on to her final task before she got Harry for her own. So Hermione got to her feet, putting on her cloak.

"You're leaving?" Petunia asked blankly. "But…what about Harry?" Her eyes narrowed and she jumped up. "You _are _still taking the boy, right?"

"Yes, I am. But I can't take him yet," Hermione answered coolly. "I still have things I must do before I can take in an infant. But worry not; I'll be back in the evening for him." Hermione walked briskly to the door, and, before Petunia could stop her, apparated.

She landed in front of the Hogwarts boar-topped gates with a soft _pop. _Hermione gazed up at the school, mesmerized. She had been in for all sorts of nostalgia today; she had not seen the school in years.

Finally, she shook herself out of her revelry, and walked right up to the gates. In a loud, clear voice, she said, "I would like to speak with Albus Dumbledore, please."

There was a pause, and Hermione felt a spell wave tingle over her body. When the security probe had proved she was not hiding anything dark or malicious on her persons, the gates creaked open. Hermione blinked, slightly surprised at the simplicity of it all, before regaining her sense and striding in.

She made her way to the front door, to find none other than Albus Dumbledore waiting for her outside the school doors. Hermione paused, feeling yet another wave of nostalgia. The last time she saw Dumbledore, he was in a casket, dead, but here he was, alive and well and comfortable looking, albeit a bit confused. Hermione shook her head slightly. No time to lose her wits now. Now was the time she most need to have her wits about her.

Dumbledore nodded at her when she approached him. "Hello, Ms….?"

Hermione shook his proffered hand before replying, "…Evans, Mr. Dumbledore, sir."

"Yes. Well, I do believe we'd talk much more comfortably in my office. May I?" He offered his arm to Hermione, and she took it, as he led the way to his office in silence. They did not speak until Hermione had sat down across from Dumbledore at his desk, at which he keened forward and said, "So, Ms. Evans, what is it you wish to speak with me about."

Hermione straightened up, before saying, "I am Lucretia Evans, nee Lestrange. I'm the aunt of Lily and Petunia, and the great aunt of Harry Potter, and, having obtained permission from Petunia, I wish to obtain custody of my nephew."

Dumbledore frowned, and opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione, having just thought of something else, said, "I am taking him whether you want me to or not, but I just thought you ought to know, that's all."

Dumbledore sat back, silent for a long moment, staring at Hermione, apparently at a loss for words, before finally saying, "Ms. Evans…I was not aware Harry had…"

"Any other living family members? Well, he does, he has me."

Dumbledore frowned before saying. "No…I meant I was not under the impression he had any wizard relatives on his mother's side, apart from his mother, of course."

Hermione sniffed. "You know the notoriety of the pureblood mania the Lestrange family exudes, correct? When I fell in love and married a muggle, I of course did not want to tell any of them, because no doubt would they disown me, there was also a good chance they'd kill me or my new husband. So I simply…vanished. I never told my husband what I really was, never performed magic again, until he died, a couple years ago. So no, it would not say I was a witch on the family tree, because, due to the fact that I had renounced the wizarding world because of the man I loved, I renounced my magic, and I was no longer anything more than a muggle. When my husband died, however, I decided to rejoin the world I missed, especially as my niece was also part of that world. Imagine her surprise when she found out her great aunt was a witch too!"

Dumbledore was silent for a moment, processing this. Finally, he said, "Very well…very well. But, my dear lady, I'm sorry, but you are not of the same blood as Harry, you cannot protect him…"

"D'you think I'd come here with the intention of gaining custody of my nephew without knowing if I could protect him? I am of the same blood as Harry. When Lily discovered I was a witch, she asked me to become blood bonded with Harry, should anything happen to her, so I could take care of him."

Dumbledore looked surprised. "I was not aware of this," He said. "I would have thought they would have told me…"

"It was a private family affair, with all due respect, sir. We told no one of it."

Dumbledore was silent for a moment. Then, he said, "Very well. Ah, if you don't mind, could I check the blood bond?"

Hermione silently extended her wrist. Dumbledore muttered a charm and waved his wand, staring intently at her wrist, which glowed bright red, and the pale gold. She felt the same warm, tingly feeling.

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, you are blood bonded with Harry. Hmm. Well, very well then. You may take him."

Hermione, having expected more of a fight, was taken aback. "I- I can?"

"Yes," Dumbledore responded. "Please just promise me you'll do everything in your power to keep him happy and safe."

Hermione nodded, and then got up, shaking Dumbledore's hand. "I will, sir, I will." She was preparing to leave when she remembered something else she had needed to say. "Oh, and sir?"

"Yes?" He answered.

"I'm very worried about the Longbottoms…I believe there is a plot against them. Perhaps…it would be wise to place them under watch and protection?"

Dumbledore looked taken aback. "You're quite sure?"

"Yes, I feel it in my bones. It's a bad feeling."

"Well, if you believe we should, I shall see to it. Thank you."

"Thank you."

Hermione left his office, and stood outside the door, grinning like a madman. _She had Harry. _

She did a sort of jog that was quite impressive at her age before hurrying back down to the gate. Harry was hers.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

**An: Hello, all! I'm so sorry for the delay, I've been exceptionally busy this past month or so. But, here now, so worry not! A few notes; One, OMG. GUYS. I'VE SAID THIS BEFORE. No, Harry will not be paired with elderly Hermione. ****Harry will be paired with the Hermione of his age. ****Got it? Great. Sorry, but I keep answering increasingly rude queries of this and it's getting a little old. Which leads me to my second point. If you don't have anything nice to say, then don't say anything at all. It's as simple as that. I'm getting real tired of going through the nasty and, surprise surprise, anonymous flames and nastily posed questions. Because guess what? You're just wasting both your time and mine by sending them and I just delete them anyways, so yeah! Anyways, bear that in mind please. Enjoy! Oh, and please vote on my poll on my profile!**

Hermione wanted to immediately go and fetch Harry, but she knew she had accomplished a lot in a day, and besides, her old woman's body was complaining. Best get some sleep and get the house absolutely prepared for the true adventure that would start tomorrow. Hermione apparated to the cozy house that was now hers, and, lingering briefly on the front steps, let herself in.

The furnishers and the young man Hermione had hired to help out in the shop, Ernest, had outdone their selves. The place looked great. Shelves lined the room and were filled with all manners of used, second-hand books. Magic, always lit and never dangerous candles floated serenely near the ceiling, casting a warm glow through the shop. A corner had been set up with soft rugs and comfortable chairs. Soft music played from the wireless; Hermione recognized Celestina Warbeck's soft croon. So far, so good. Hermione continued up the steps to the flat.

The living room was cozy, a nice place to enjoy a cup of tea and read, as was the kitchen. Her bedroom had been nicely done and looked quite nice. Harry's bedroom was exceptional; a crib sat under the window, and a fuzzy rug covered the floor. Toys spilled out of a chest in the corner and a huge teddy bear sat upright in the crib. Hermione smiled, stroking its ear absently. She cast a long glance around the room, before nodding in satisfaction. She took her hand off the teddy's head and retreated to the kitchen, thinking of nothing except getting a cup of tea and a bathe and then crawling into bed to eagerly await the morning.

The next morning, at 9:30 on the dot, Hermione knocked smartly on the Dursley's door. She had hurried through the morning, inhaling her tea and bacon before getting ready. She had been surprised and pleased to find that her wardrobe had been increased, and the newest, most respectable looking robes and muggle clothes hung in her closet, and found baby clothes for Harry in his. Hermione suspected this to be the work of Ernest, and was grateful to him as she chose a red wool dress and matching coat with black pumps and pantyhose. She twisted her gray-brown curls into a loose knot at the nape of her neck and secured it with a black clip. The result was a respectable-looking elderly woman, and a completely muggle one at that.

Hermione then ventured down into the shop. As soon as she reached the bottom step, she heard, "Hellllllloooooooo!" and was tackled by a figure who hugged her so fiercely she was swept off her feet, literally. When she was finally set down, she found herself face to face with the man she took to be Ernest, even if he hadn't had his name badge pinned neatly to the front of his robes. He was tall, young, and good-looking, with a goofy lopsided grin, wide, slightly manic blue eyes, and red-gold curly hair. He constantly bounced around and had chosen bright, baby blue robes as his employee robes, which happened to be so bright they made Hermione's eyes water slightly.

"Er…hello," Hermione answered back.

"Oh, my goodness, I feel like I know you so well, even though we haven't technically met yet. Speaking of that…where are my manners…?" He stopped bouncing and stood still, hand out in front of him for Hermione to shake, and said solemnly, "I am Ernest Quippley, pleased to meet you, Ms. Lucretia Evans."

When Hermione hesitantly took his hand to shake, Ernest again split into a wide grin and pulled Hermione close into yet-another bone-crushing hug. "Ooh, it's _so _good to finally meet you!"

He let Hermione go, still beaming. "Well, I know you have important things to do today Ms. Evans, so I'll go ahead and open up, shall I? Don't worry, dear, I'll have a cup of tea ready for you by the time you get back, and before I open I suppose I'll kip up and clean real quick…"

Before Hermione could protest his cleaning, which was unnecessary, or reply or react at all, he was gone, having dashed like a flash up the stairs. Hermione was a little bemused and a lot taken aback, but slowly, her face split into a wide grin. She could already tell she was going to like Ernest. Smiling, she exited the shop, before apparating to outside the Dursley's place with a sharp _crack!_

Time for everything to truly begin.

**An: Quite a short chapter, but I haven't written in weeks and I need to get in the hang of it again. Don't worry, I'll be back soon though! Hope you enjoyed it!**


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